


Lies Always Seem So True

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Brief knifeplay, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, Implied Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: Rook shouldn't be here. Should be anywhere, everywhere, else. But Joseph has never turned him away before and he's in the mood for a wicked sort of stress relief.





	Lies Always Seem So True

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a continuation/takes place in the same universe as a prompt I received on my tumblr! Reading it isn't necessary, just understand Joseph wants every single bit of this even if he's torn over the sin Rook brings out in him. I hope you enjoy!

He almost knocks over a table coming in. Rook catches it, just barely, setting it upright with a scowl. Of course Joseph couldn’t make it fucking easy on him, had to have shit just _everywhere_ in his stupid house. For a man who preaches about giving everything to God and living a life free of complications, he sure loves his material possessions.

And, as it turns out, his “complications.”

It takes a moment to slip off his boots, clutch them in his hand as he softly pads along the hall. He can hear people on patrol downstairs, the soft chatter of people trying not to wake others. Luckily, no one seems to be on the upper floor--probably in respect to the Father’s sleep.

Good thing Peggies are about as oblivious as they come to him sneaking around. No better way to lose the lust that’s creeping through his veins than getting shot at. 

Joseph’s door is unlocked--because he’s an idiot--and Rook makes no noise as he opens it and slides inside. He drops his boots next to it once it’s closed, hands on his hips as he surveys the man sleeping peacefully on the bed. Joseph sleeps like a kid in a grown-ups bed; arms and legs splayed in every direction, on his stomach with his face mashed into the pillows.

Rook would take pictures if Joseph hadn’t begged him to privacy. 

Eh, he might anyhow. What’s Joseph gonna do if he finds out? Yell? Berate him?

Hell, it’d probably turn him on. Knowing he’s got the whole damn county under his thumb except for one man that he’s absolutely _powerless_ against.

The thought has him cupping himself, rubbing his palm against his cock as it starts to thicken behind his zipper. He’s quiet when he moves, bare feet silent on hardwood, and there’s a single moment after he braces his knee on the end of the bed that Joseph stirs.

Just a bit. The smallest screaming in his brain telling him there’s someone in his space. But he’s not Jacob or John, so assured in his place at the top of his self-constructed pyramid that his rational brain shuts off the alarms with a lazy slap. He shifts, huffs softly in his sleep like a pup with a dream, curls one long arm around the pillow to drag it closer to his face.

But nothing more.

Idiot.

Rook breathes out, long and controlled, reaching out for the sheet that covers Joseph’s body. It’s a miracle he’s got anything on at all, Montana relentlessly hot even in the cover of night. He slowly pulls, drags the sheet against sweat slick skin, and grins as bit by bit it exposes Joseph’s skin.

He’s naked underneath. Fucking _perfect_.

The scars and ink catch his eye, markings of a life hard lived, survival cut into skin never to be removed. Joseph can’t outrun his past no matter how many barriers he throws up, can’t shake the memories and sins that burned their way into him before he found his path. 

It’s why he lets Rook do this shit to him. Allows Rook to slip into his home, between his thighs, tear him apart at a soul-deep level. Because Joseph is _weak_ , weak to someone who sees him as something less than the Herald all of his sheep do. Rook doesn’t look at him with a single spark of worship in his eyes and Joseph _lives_ for it.

“You don’t have a single clue, do you?” Rook whispers, words sharp to the sleep slack curve of Joseph’s face, half hidden in the pillow. “I’m here to _defile_ you and you don’t even know it yet.”

Joseph shifts again in response to his words, or maybe to the way the sheet’s only barely covering his ass now, the breeze from the lazily turning fan above them touching skin previously protected. There’s a soft noise, a hum of some sort, and Rook’s heart jumps into his throat as Joseph spreads his legs just a little wider.

Does he know? Is he awake and feigning sleep, waiting to see what Rook will do?

He doesn’t move for a long few moments, watching Joseph’s face, the beat of his pulse under the scruff at his jaw. Nothing more comes, just the even rise and fall of Joseph’s back as he breathes, limbs still limp with sleep. For the moment, Rook is still undetected. A snake coiled in the grass far enough away from footsteps, waiting and wanting and watching.

He discards the sheet once it’s cleared Joseph’s thighs, crumpling it on the side of his body, exposing him to Rook’s gaze. He’s too thin, shoulder blades a bit too sharp through skin, the divots too sharp in his lower back, but there’s _power_ under the skin too. Muscles in stark relief along his arms, whip-thin but strong nevertheless. 

Rook buries the insane urge to drag his tongue over the knobs of Joseph’s spine, swallowing thickly and squeezing his cock through his jeans.

He’s between Joseph’s legs, kneeling carefully, and he scoots forward just the smallest bit, knees nudging Joseph’s thighs apart. He complies with a huff, like he’s annoyed even in his sleep, and Rook buries a laugh as he fumbles in his pocket.

The lube is body hot, warmed from being pressed between material and thigh, and he drips far too much over his fingers. It stains the bed below, reminders of what they’re doing that will last even past his presence here. He drops it there carelessly, right on top of the few drops, letting the still open cap leak slowly.

He always liked making a mess.

Rook’s gentle when he palms one cheek, pushing it aside slowly, eyes flicking between the innocent way Joseph’s hole clenches when exposed to his face, still buried and slack. Careful. Slow. He rubs slick circles, spreading the lube from his fingers to sensitive muscle, and his mouth drops open in shock when Joseph’s body opens too easy for the first tentative press.

“Naughty preacher,” Rook grins, the clench of Joseph’s body around his fingers greedy, allowing two fingers inside far too easily. “Were you playing games before bed? Wishing I was here?”

He stretches his fingers apart, Joseph making a sound low in his throat, body shifting as it starts to wake up.

“Sounds like God heard your prayers. So much for deafness towards sinners.”

He slides another finger inside before Joseph wakes up, too much, too fast, but never more than Joseph can take. It’s a stretch, muscles clenching and relaxing as Joseph’s body desperately tries to adjust, and it’s the nicest accompaniment to Joseph’s soft whine as he comes back to consciousness.

“Don’t scream,” Rook warns him, moving his hand from Joseph’s ass to his thigh, fingers biting in bruise deep. “If you scream, all this ends here and now. Your guards are gonna come up here and find you split open on my fingers and I’m going to _let_ them.”

Joseph glares at him, but he’s trapped and he knows it. His thighs part more, impossibly more, and Rook grins as his hips cant up into the next thrust of his fingers.

“You know, I expected my job to be a little harder. But my fingers just slid right in.” Joseph makes a low noise, like an animal caught in a trap. “Now why is that, I wonder? You do all that preaching about avoiding sin and casting it out from your life and then you--what? Leave your pretty church, come up here, and fuck yourself open on your fingers?”

Rook stretches his fingers wide, a parody of the porno playing in his mind, and Joseph buries his face into the pillow to hide a groan that sounds like it ripped itself out of him. 

“I will have your tongue cut out.” Joseph promises, words muffled as Rook rolls his eyes and sets a brutal pace, fucking him open.

“For what? That’s only if I tell lies, _Father_. And since I haven’t heard one denial, it can’t be a lie, right?”

He trails his hand up, grinning at the sight of bright red marks on Joseph’s thigh, and flattens his palm against the small of Joseph’s back.

“Unless, of course, I’m wrong. In which case, feel free to let me know. Just, y’know, make sure _you’re_ not telling lies when you do.”

“Miserable _heretic_.” Joseph spits, even as he tries to get his knees under his body and shove backwards into the sloppy thrusts of Rook’s fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a right mean sonofabitch.” 

Rook yanks his fingers out, a mean laugh escaping at the punched out mewl that tumbles from Joseph’s lips, and starts on the zipper of his pants. He’s so distracted he misses Joseph getting moving, twisting, long fingers catching and gripping the fabric of his shirt. The world tips, whirls around his head as Joseph _pulls_ , and Rook finds himself splayed over the bed on his back.

Joseph’s just slung a leg over his hips when Rook presses the blade he freed from it’s holster on his thigh to the underside of Joseph’s chin.

There’s a moment of pause, where Joseph freezes above him, arms shaking where they’re bracing his weight against Rook’s stomach. He exhales, shaky and rough, rushed, eyes too wide without the shield of those ever present fucking glasses. Rook turns the knife, lets the tip rest against the paper thin skin underneath the scruff, and runs a careful hand up Joseph’s thigh.

“I’m sorry, did we forget something? You do _not_ get to do that shit to me, Joseph.”

“I wanted--” Joseph cuts himself off with a low moan when his hips rock forward, grinding his cock against the scrape of Rook’s clothes. 

“What? You wanted _what_?”

“We’ve never--in this position--in a bed, and I thought--”

It’s almost adorable to see a man so used to preaching, so used to captivating others with his words, at a complete loss for them. It’d be far more amusing if Rook’s zipper wasn’t pinching his cock fiercely, flesh unwilling to be contained by cloth any longer. 

“Bullshit.” He uses the knife to lift Joseph’s chin when it tries to drop, forcing the eye contact Joseph is so fond of commanding from everyone else. “That’s why you can’t get a full sentence out. You _know_ lying is a sin, Joseph, so why even try?”

There’s something buried under the lust in Joseph’s gaze. Not rage or hatred, he’s far too obsessed with Rook for that. But...agitation? Irritation?

The realization nearly makes Rook laugh and he settles for a wide grin instead, planting his feet on the bed to roll up into the next mindless thrust of Joseph’s hips.

He’s throwing a fucking _tantrum_.

“What’s that you say? The truth will set you free?” Rook feels Joseph’s hand clench in his shirt, feels him shudder overtop him. “Tell me the truth, Joseph.”

“I wanted you to _see_ me.”

“I see you more than I fucking care to most days.” Rook reminds him with the gentlest pressure of the knife driving the words home. “You vain, _prideful_ man.”

“Please.” 

It’s so quiet Rook nearly doesn’t hear it over the background noise, the fan and the soft sounds of the sheets shifting under the movement of their bodies. Joseph’s eyes are cast down, despite Rook forcing his chin to stay steady, a shameful curl to his shoulders.

“Please?”

“I don’t want to--let me have you. Like this. It’s been too long. And I _need_ \--”

“Well, how ‘bout that.” Rook lets the knife fall, watching Joseph follow it with sharp focus until it’s safely back in its place on his thigh. “Somebody better give me a goddamn award. First person in the world to turn a God-fearing man into a cockslut.”

Joseph’s eyes are too harsh, pointed, and Rook reaches down to grab hold of his cock, pressing his thumb cruelly into the leaking slit. The body atop his jerks like Joseph just got electrocuted, palm slapping across his mouth as he whines into his palm, thighs twitching wildly outside his own. 

“Stop throwing a fucking fit or I’ll leave. And you can use your fingers again.”

Joseph nods, hand still tight to his face, eyes dropping demurely. It’s almost laughable how fast he obeys when Rook threatens to take his favorite toy away. He lets go, folds his hands behind his head, and nods when Joseph stays frozen above him.

“Well? You wanna be in charge so goddamn bad, go right ahead. And quick, before my cock busts my zipper and I’ve gotta walk outta here in your clothes.”

Joseph lowers his hand carefully, eyes flicking back and forth between Rook’s zipper and his face as shaky fingers work at his belt. It’s like he expects permission to be taken away any second now, fumbling in too fast movements to hurry through before he’s stopped. Rook’s tempted, so tempted he opens his mouth, but Joseph’s hand pushes in the second his pants part and all that comes out is a strangled sort of groan.

“In such a damn hurry,” he grumbles, ignoring Joseph’s incredulous stare to rock up into the grip. “I said get my pants open, not grab for the grand prize, greedy ass.”

“I want to--can I--”

“Are you even open enough?” Rook asks, even as Joseph rises up onto his knees and twists to scramble behind him for the lube. “Or do you need it so bad you just don’t fucking care?”

“I am fine.” He’s lying and Rook knows it, hands too shaky to properly grip the lube, like a addict gone too long without. “I am made for you and you for I and it will be fine.”

Rook grunts, makes sure Joseph sees the roll of his eyes, and settles his shoulders deeper into the mattress. 

“Whatever. Don’t come crying to me if I make you bleed.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for Rook to catch, where Joseph can’t seem to get any air in, fingers gripping white knuckle tight on the bottle he fished out of the sheets. He sees Joseph’s eyes flutter shut as he finally inhales, lips quivering on the exhale, face a pinched picture of resistance, like he’s fighting a war inside himself.

Oh. Oh, he is _definitely_ going to remember that.

Rook hisses at the slide of lube against his cock, Joseph’s fingers light like he doesn’t want Rook getting off before he’s inside him. It makes him buck, back arching off the bed, hands locking onto wrists so he doesn’t reach out.

He told Joseph if he wanted it he had to do it himself. He’s gotta stick to that decision.

Joseph isn’t stretched enough. Despite whatever he did earlier, despite the vicious way Rook had stretched him while he was still sleep soft and lazy, it’s not enough. His muscles clench down so tightly against the head of Rook’s cock it nearly makes him go cross eyed, teeth grinding together until there’s a pounding ache all the way along his jaw.

And that’s just him. Joseph is gasping, mouth wide open, lips slick as he scratches at the clothes covering Rook’s chest. His thighs are shaking, muscles jumping and twitching wildly, and the muscles of his stomach are in such tight relief Rook could probably count the individual stria. 

If, of course, he could get his eyes to focus.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words are out before he can think and he sees Joseph’s head snap up, a fire burning in the blue depths, immediately incensed. “You feel like a fucking virgin.”

“Don’t _say_ that.” Joseph hisses between his own set of clenched teeth. “Not while we’re doing this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Rook snaps back. “Did I offend your precious fucking morals? Sorry for not being respectful to God while shoving my cock in your ass.”

Joseph drops his weight suddenly, like he’s trying to punish him. It’s not enough to get him balls deep but he sinks in too far, too fast, and Rook kicks out uselessly at the white hot pleasure that all but punches him in the gut. It’s enough to force his hands out from under his head, snapping down to latch onto Joseph’s thighs, leaving another set of bruises no doubt.

“Mother _fuck_!”

“I thought about you.” Joseph is shaking, a trembling mass atop him as he rocks, trying to greedily take all of Rook down to the base. “Before bed. I _imagined_ you.”

“Course you did.” Rook groans when Joseph finally gets his wish, ass flush against his hips, his cock surrounded by tight, wet, _hot_.

There’s a look in Joseph’s eyes too similar to when he preaches, a manic righteous fury. Like he’s not totally in control of himself, a puppet in capable hands.

Except in this case, Rook’s pretty sure it’s his hands guiding him, not some nameless and faceless Voice.

“I couldn’t--we watch you, you know. _I_ watch you. Running around, a blasphemer in words and actions. Destroying all I have built for myself, for _us_.”

“Oh, don’t fucking start.” Rook shifts his hands, grabs for Joseph’s waist as he sets a pace that’s going to make his goddamn heart jump out of his chest.

He’s being ridden like a fucking _bull_ and he’d have more a problem with it if Joseph didn’t look like he was going to tear apart at the seams any second now. 

“So, what? You’re blaming _me_ for it all? Like you’re not some desperate, _lustful_ little whore for my cock?” Rook thrusts up into the next drop of Joseph’s body and grins at the scream he doesn’t quite managed to swallow back. “Give it the fuck up, Joseph. It stopped being my fault the second you dropped to your knees and sucked me off the first time. I didn’t have a gun to your head, I didn’t force a single thing. This is all _you_.”

He reaches up, grabs for the hair that’s coming loose from Joseph’s neat little tie, and tugs him down so they’re breathing the same air. It slows Joseph’s frantic pace, forces him into shallow little thrusts and grinding rolls of his hips. And it drives him _mad_ if the way he pushes and shoves at Rook’s chest are any indication.

“You could have stopped all this. Told me you didn’t want it. But you keep. Letting. Me. Back.” It’s easier at this angle to slam inside, shoving his cock home with the force of his braced feet behind it. “You let me bend you over, fucking _beg_ me for it. Because all your pretty fucking words and sermons don’t mean a goddamn thing when it comes to how much you want my cock.”

If Rook’s at the end of his rope, orgasm already pulling his balls in close, then Joseph is only hanging on by his fingertips. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy and shiny like he’s holding back tears, mouth hanging open as small grunts escape with every thrust of Rook’s hips. He can feel the pre-come on his stomach, practically dripping out of Joseph’s cock, falling on bare skin because Joseph’s shaking hands have pushed his shirt halfway up his chest.

He’ll be damned if he comes first. Joseph doesn’t even get that out of him. 

“Come on, come the fuck on.” Rook lets go, lets Joseph sit himself upright and reach back, brace hands on his knees to rise and fall in his own desperate rhythm. 

His hand finds Joseph’s cock, strips it roughly, but his gaze never wavers from Joseph’s face. 

There’s a split second, right before spurts of hot land on his knuckles and stomach, that Joseph looks like he’s seen God. His face goes limp, eyes peeled wide, breathing catching and holding in his chest. The noise that escape is the wordless plea of a desperate man, someone who has nothing left to give and everything to lose.

He collapses over Rook once he’s done, elbows landing heavy next to Rook’s ears, a weight pinning him to the bed. Limp and pliant. It’s easy to grip his hips, work him up and down like he’s little more than a human sized fleshlight. Joseph’s whining his name in his ear, a mantra and a plea and a prayer.

It’s the quiet, needy, _broken_ “please” that finally sends him over. Has him slamming inside so deep Joseph can probably feel the jerk of his balls against his ass. There’s so much come, it’s been so long since they’ve gotten the chance to do this, it leaks out and drips back down his shaft.

He fucking _ruined_ Joseph. He’ll preach his pretty little sermons with a limp tomorrow.

“Get off.” He shoves at Joseph’s weight, both of them making a groan of dismay when Joseph complies and tumbles off to lay next to him. 

It’s not cold in the room but Rook’s cock _feels_ cold without the blood-hot grip of Joseph’s body around it. 

“You will pay for your words. For your blasphemy.” Joseph promises, though his words lack bite since they’re panted out around frenzied gasps for breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard it all before.” Rook throws a forearm across his eyes, body exhausted with the effort he put in. “Just give me like...one fucking hour. And then you can throw more cannon fodder at me.”

A hesitation, a long moment that stretches until Rook’s tempted to look over, and then Joseph’s arm slides cautiously over his waist. He doesn’t try and pin him down, just cuddles into his side, head on Rook’s shoulder. His fingers are gentle when they brush over the mark his crazy brother had etched into the skin below his collarbone. 

“John’s wrong. Your sin is not just Wrath. You are guilty of _so_ much more.”

“Want me to tell him?” Rook sucks his teeth, hides a grin when he feels Joseph stiffen against his side. “Of course, that’d mean confession again. And John means it when he says you’ll tell him _everything_. I guess if you want me to spill about our little midnight rendezvous I could...but I doubt it’d cast you in a good light, _Father_.”

“I hate you.” There’s no venom behind it, the impotent anger of someone looking down the barrel of a gun they know they can’t outrun.

He’s got Joseph right where he wants him. Rook is safe as long as Joseph wants him more than he wants the county under his thumb. And he’ll do everything Rook wants if it means this continues. If it means Rook shows up now and again to rip him off his throne and defile him before he can climb back onto it. 

“Lying is a sin, Joseph. Remember?”

“ _Sinner_.”

“Yeah.” Rook shifts, makes himself a bit more comfortable, and pats gently at Joseph’s shoulder when he clutches him close like he’s terrified he’ll leave. “Guess that makes two of us, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over on tumblr [HERE](https://momomomma2.tumblr.com) where I'm usually thirsting over various characters and open to fic suggestions!


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